


Dead Men Dating

by Wanderer



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Fun, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:23:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese secretly plans to date Finch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Men Dating

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Dead Men Dating 死人约会指南](https://archiveofourown.org/works/984796) by [LeeDD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeDD/pseuds/LeeDD)



> This fic is for Lady Ra. Even though it's not quite the one she asked for, she made me think of writing a light, funny sort of Rinch fairytale. Something to make people laugh, instead of my usual angsty fics. So this is pretty cracky. I just hope you all like it anyway. And that no one takes this even remotely seriously. : )

 

Dead Men Dating

 

By Wanderer

 

 

 

It should’ve been simple, Reese thought.  Finch seemed lonely, and Reese sure as hell was.  If Finch were anyone else, Reese would’ve just asked him out, but Finch didn’t date.  Reese and Fusco had surveilled him long enough to know.  Like Reese, Finch was a ‘ghost’.  Kind of hard to date anyone when you’re a dead man walking, and can’t afford to tell them anything about you.  Add Finch’s paranoia to that, his conviction that he was “ground zero for an infection” which had made him leave his own fiancée behind, and you had a recipe for permanent loneliness.

 

Some men would’ve solved the problem with casual sex or prostitutes.  But neither he nor Fusco had turned up any evidence of either in Finch’s life.  Reese was glad, because Finch deserved better.  And Reese meant to make sure he got it:  or more precisely, him. 

 

The answer seemed so obvious, Reese was kind of embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it sooner.  He could cure Finch’s problem, and Finch could solve his.  If they had sex, neither of them would be so lonely anymore.  And it’d be better than casual sex, since he and Finch were already friends.  Win, win. 

 

It wasn’t just vanity -- at least, not entirely – that made Reese think he’d dreamed up the perfect solution.  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.  Because really, how could either of them trust anyone else with their dangerous secrets?  But Finch knew almost everything about Reese, and he’d never betrayed him; and Reese already knew some of Finch’s secrets, but Finch knew he hadn’t shared them with anyone, either.  Though they both had a boatload of issues with trust, they’d managed it with each other.  And Reese was already using an alias himself, just like Finch, and was just as ‘officially’ dead as Finch, too.  Plus, he was really good with all kinds of guns, weapons and explosives.  So Finch would never have to ditch Reese, to keep him safe. 

 

The very idea of that made Reese snicker.  As if. 

 

So what if Reese still didn’t know very much about his mysterious boss?   Whatever his real name might be, Reese really liked the man he knew as Harold Finch.  He liked pretty much everything about him:  his blue eyes, his neat little Tintin haircut, his three-piece suits and the computer wizardry he used to save the Numbers.  Finch had amazing hands, which he (sadly, in Reese’s opinion) only seemed to use to stroke computer keyboards.  Reese could (and often did) imagine far more interesting uses for Harold’s hands.  And he even liked Finch’s formality, because it made teasing the hell out of him so much fun.  Reese liked teasing Harold even more than sneaking up and terrifying Fusco, which was saying something. 

 

Luckily, Finch seemed to like Reese right back.  So much that he’d saved Reese from a CIA sniper, then paid some doctor a huge pile of money to secretly sew him up again.  Nothing said “BFF” quite as strongly to Reese as a daring night-time rescue featuring a billionaire recluse with bags of cash at the wheel, and a Lincoln Town car as their getaway vehicle.  It was so amazing and so badass in a bizarre way, it’d been worthy of Reese himself.  Plus, Reese loved to imagine the hissy fit Mark Snow must’ve thrown when Harold rescued him, snatching him right out of Snow’s hands at the last second, when Snow was convinced his sniper had finally managed to kill him.  _The screaming must’ve been epic_.  Though Reese hadn’t gotten to see it, the fact that he was even alive to imagine it was sweet revenge in itself.  It always made him feel this sort of warm, affectionate glow towards Finch.  

 

He probably would’ve had sex with Harold for that alone.  But Finch had done so much more for him than that.  To pay Finch back properly, Reese probably should’ve showed up in his bed naked with a ribbon tied around him, long ago.

 

Reese smirked to himself, imagining Finch’s reaction to that.  If it wasn’t such a risky move, he’d’ve done it already.  But if he’d guessed wrong about Finch’s sexuality, Finch might get so angry he’d fire him for it, which would ruin everything.  Reese he didn’t think he was wrong, though; and he’d risked his ass many times for far less potential reward.  He’d finally gotten tired of waiting, and decided he was so gonna risk it for Harold this time.

 

He just wasn’t sure about his approach.  He’d given up (reluctantly) on the idea of showing up gift-wrapped in Finch’s bed, because even if he was right about Finch, it still seemed like too crude a ploy.  Finch was proper and formal, a real stickler for neatness and politeness.  Appearances counted with him.  Plus, he was brilliant and didn’t suffer fools gladly.  If he wanted more than just a one-night-stand with Finch, Reese figured he had to get it right the first time.  Plan his campaign carefully.

 

In fact, given how complicated Finch was, Reese probably needed to strategize the _hell_ out of his plan.  But he could do that.  He grinned.  _Before I’m done, it’ll be the fucking Plan that Ate New York_.

 

Like he’d once told Darren McGrady, step one in any successful campaign was always:  Observe your enemy.  As far as Reese was concerned, that applied to both love _and_ war.  Luckily for him, he’d been observing Finch closely for months now.  He’d surveilled his target already, and discovered that Finch seemed lonely. Ripe for the picking, so to speak.  But Reese had to do the picking.  Get to Finch first.

 

Reese hadn’t missed Finch’s attraction to the woman who’d pretended to be Jordan Hester.  Strangers didn’t know that Finch didn’t date, so it wouldn’t stop one from trying to attract him.  And since a lonely man could easily make mistakes, Reese figured he’d better be quick, or someone with curves and/or blonde hair could come along, dangle a rare book in front of Finch or mention that they loved Dickens, and grab Harold right out from under his nose.  Though Reese was convinced that Finch would probably come to his senses and ditch said person quickly for their own good, even a temporary affair like that would probably make Finch twice as determined never to make that kind of “mistake” again.  Which would hurt Reese’s own chances with him. 

 

Reese couldn’t let that happen.  But he knew Finch would be upset if he started stalking him and assaulting people who tried to talk to him about books.  Well – Finch actually already knew about the stalking thing, but assaults on bookish people would be something new; and assaults tended to make Finch cranky at the best of times.  So while Reese worked on his Plan, he started reading a lot in the mornings instead, when Finch could see him.  He’d actually found some really interesting, even potentially useful books, like “Stress Fractures in Titanium.”  (Reese liked knowing about weaknesses in various kinds of metal; it made escaping from things like handcuffs, burning cars and locked refrigerated trucks a lot easier.)  But the real point of all his reading was to show Finch he could dangle books with the best of ‘em.  If that was what it took to get Finch to notice him, he’d read every damn book in his library. 

 

Though he’d probably draw the line at romance novels.  Maybe.

 

But back to his Plan…

 

Step two:  review his assets.

 

Luckily, Reese had already had sex with men and really liked it, so. Huge advantage there. Also, he was handsome and he knew it. Kind of hard to miss, when both women and men followed him with their eyes wherever he went, and smiled and flirted with him a lot. That’d been going on since he was fourteen, so (aside from his scars) his outward attractiveness was a given. Another big advantage. He was also good at his job, and pretty sure that Finch found competence attractive. Plus, he’d been told his low voice was sexy, so he’d kind of been whispering around Finch lately, just to heighten the effect.

 

Reese smirked, thinking of that.  Even before he’d starting working on his Plan, he’d loved flirting with Finch.  Even Finch’s obliviousness was kind of a thrill, because a) he wasn’t sure Finch wasn’t slyly aware of his interest, and pretending not to be just to see how far he’d go, and b) since Reese wasn’t sure how far he’d go either, Finch’s apparent failure to notice him just tended to spur him on to greater efforts.  He’d assumed that stalking Finch would be a big, giant Hint of his attraction (with a capital “H”), but it hadn’t worked out that way. Yet.

 

Reese blinked. Damn, he'd been diverted -- yet again -- by fond thoughts of stalking Finch. Back to step two…

 

Reese’s scars were a potential problem.  They could be considered good or bad, sexy or ugly, depending on the person he was in bed with.  Somehow, though, he didn’t think they’d freak Finch out.  Judging by his injuries, Finch had scars too.  And given Finch’s love of details, he’d probably already memorized Reese’s CIA file and knew every scar John had, where he’d gotten them and how.  So, no surprises there.  John also thought it was possible that Finch might see his scars through rose-colored glasses, as “the marks of a warrior”, or something geeky or romantic like that, rather than just times when Reese hadn’t ducked fast enough.  So far, so good.  One possible defect switched to Reese’s asset column, right there.

 

So:  Reese was hot, experienced and confident, and Finch already knew he had a voice that could melt chocolate.  Plus, Finch might think his scars made Reese look like a pirate.  That could be fun.  John nodded to himself and smiled.  His assets totaled up nicely. 

 

Step three:  tactics.  That was the hard part.  He still needed to work out the details of his Plan.  How to use all his assets to win Finch.

 

How exactly do you date a dead guy?

 

The question made John think of jokes he knew Finch would hate.  “ _This_ _dead guy walks into a bar_ …”

 

Reese laughed. 

Then he forced himself to get serious again. He hated to admit it, but he lost a little momentum -- or was it confidence? -- when it came to figuring out the details of his Plan. He found himself obsessing about little things that ordinarily wouldn’t’ve bothered him. Like what to wear: black suit and white shirt, or black suit and black shirt? (Decisions, decisions.) And since he couldn’t cook very well, what restaurant should he order take-out from? He’d decided that for their first date, he needed to get Finch all to himself, in a secure location he could lock down. So going to a restaurant for dinner was out. Partly so Reese could make sure no pretty people with books sat down nearby, but also so Finch couldn’t bolt when Reese made his move.

 

Then there was also the question of what wine should he order to go with the food?  Reese knew enough about wine to get by, but that wouldn’t do.  How could he impress a billionaire who no doubt knew far more than he did about really expensive vintages?  He could’ve gone online for answers, but that wasn’t much fun.  Reese preferred a more hands-on approach to intelligence gathering.  He’d considered capturing a chef for a few minutes, and intimidating him or her into giving him the information he needed.  There were plenty of five star restaurants in Manhattan to choose from, and chefs always had plenty of large, really sharp knives on hand he could “borrow” to make the task easier.  But what if he happened to detain a chef from a restaurant that Finch frequented, and Finch found out about it?  Or worse, what if he threatened a chef Finch actually _knew_?  Despite his surveillance, Finch was wily and paranoid enough that Reese still knew little about his friends and social contacts.  If Reese made a mistake like that, it could mess up his Plan.

 

There were other problems with his Plan, too.  Like what location could be secure enough for them to not only eat in, but have sex in afterwards?  Because the Plan totally called for sex.  It was Reese’s favorite part of the Plan, actually.  But it wasn’t like he could ask Finch to let him borrow one of his safe houses, to use for their date.  Because Reese was absolutely sure of one thing:  his Plan had to be top secret.  Surprise was an important advantage in any successful campaign.  Besides, he just wanted to surprise the hell out of Finch because it was _fun_.

 

Reese figured that secrecy would be the easiest part of his Plan.  Finch was the most dedicated geek Reese had ever met.  On a good day, it was hard to pry Finch’s eyes away from his computer screens.  (Which was really good for the Numbers, but made things hard for Reese in the romance department.)  Finch hadn’t even realized (yet) that Reese’s jokes, whispering, and sudden interest in literature were all ways of flirting with him.  (At least, Reese was fairly sure he hadn’t.)  So Reese wasn’t too worried that Finch would suddenly wake up and realize that his hired gun was actually concocting a plan to seduce him. 

 

He was still a bit worried about the right food and wine for their first date, though. 

 

On the bright side, he’d figured out a really good location for it.  The library!  It was perfect.  It was protected by Finch’s own state-of-the-art security system, so naturally, Finch felt really comfortable there, too.  And since it was his home ground, Finch wouldn’t be expecting an atta—that is, a first date with Reese there.  Best of all, Reese had discovered that there was a small bedroom there which Finch sometimes used, that would be perfect for the sex part of his Plan.

 

But even if his Plan succeeded and he and Harold ended up having a relationship (i.e., lots of sex), Reese didn’t expect more than that.  Though he wanted much more, something like he’d had with Jessica, Finch didn’t seem to want that; and Reese had learned to take what he could get.  He didn’t expect Finch to love him, but he was devoted to Finch, and that was enough.  It would still be great to have sex with someone he really cared about again. 

 

In as many places as Reese could think of, and as often as possible.

 

Which unfortunately brought him right back to the question of, how to find/serve the perfect meal/wine for a billionaire whose tastes (except for a fondness for Eggs Benedict) were as shrouded in mystery as the rest of him.

 

Eventually, Reese decided he was probably worrying too much about the dinner part of his Plan.  Granted, this was Finch, but Finch already _liked_ him.  (See the whole ’BFF’ incident.)  He realized, maybe he’d been over-thinking his Plan a little.  Maybe getting the perfect meal and ordering the perfect wine so he could impress Finch wasn’t really necessary.  He must be doing something right, after all, or Finch wouldn’t’ve staged a daring raid to rescue him.  So maybe he could seduce Finch without wining and dining him first.

 

Okay, so.  Dinner (and terrorizing a chef for intel on expensive wines) was out.  Reese was both relieved and disappointed – less complication, but also less fun -- but he soldiered on with his Plan.

 

The thing was, knowing Finch, he’d probably care more about security than food anyway.  Though Reese lacked his own safe house, in other ways, he had that subject covered.  Not only was the library secure, but Reese never went anywhere unarmed, and he was incredibly highly motivated to keep Finch safe.  Also, the first time they’d met, he’d proved to Finch that he was a lot more dangerous than those losers he’d hired as bodyguards.  (Reese had privately renamed them “Bozo #1” and “Bozo #2”, for obvious reasons).  Finch had no reason not to feel perfectly safe with him.

 

Well – maybe he’d have one little reason, Reese thought with a smile.  Soon.

 

Then again, why not now?

 

Reese decided he was ready.  He’d laid all the ground work for his Plan.  Observed his target carefully, reviewed his own assets, and chosen the right location for their date.  Other than a freshly pressed suit, lots of self confidence and his favorite concealed weapons, what else did he really need? 

 

Of course, there was always the possibility of failure, remote though it was.  If his Plan crashed and burned, it could have unpleasant consequences.  He could get fired, which would probably mean that he’d have to leave New York, too.  Reese didn’t like to think about that, but he knew he didn’t deal well with major romantic disappointments.  And he didn’t want to end up living on the streets again, because Finch had dumped him this time.

 

So he considered the bigger picture.  But he couldn’t see what the hell he had left to worry about there, either.  As far as the world was concerned, he was already dead, which gave him loads of freedom.  And he was already alone, so what did he have to lose by trying for Finch?  Even if Finch fired him for what he was planning to do (Reese’s worst case scenario, which he gave a low probability of less than 8%), John would still be pretty.  He’d always have that.  Oh, and he’d also be fairly rich, because Finch had already paid him more than enough to set Reese up comfortably somewhere for the rest of his life.  Reese didn’t need much, and he’d hardly spent any of what he’d earned, working the Numbers.  Instead, he had caches of weapons and piles of money hidden all over New York.  He had really fond memories of certain beaches in Mexico, too.  If worst came to worst, instead of getting all gloomy and drinking this time if he screwed up with Finch, he decided that if things went south, then so would he.

 

He even had his exit strategy covered.  So really -- what was he waiting for?

 

 _Just do it_.  Not such a bad slogan, really.  Even though it came from a company that made really overpriced shoes.

 

Just do it.

 

With that in mind, Reese dressed carefully in his favorite black suit and a silky new black shirt, and went to the library bright and early the next morning, without waiting for Finch to contact him like he usually did.  As it happened, they didn’t have a new Number yet, but since he’d cleverly brought coffee for himself and tea for Finch, Reese had an excuse to hang around a bit while they drank them.  So he sipped his coffee and pretended to read a book.  Secretly though, while Finch drank his Sencha green tea and watched his monitors, quiet and blissfully unaware, Reese watched him with the intensity of a famished lion watching a zebra on the African veldt. 

 

Reese tried to be patient.  He’d already locked the library up tight behind him, and re-armed Finch’s security system so they wouldn’t be disturbed.  But he also wanted Harold lulled into a false sense of security by his comforting little morning tea ritual, before he made his move.  A wise warrior, after all, uses every advantage he has.  And if Harold was sitting there all nice and warm and cozy from his hot tea, he’d be far less likely to try to run when Reese approached him.  Or so Reese hoped, anyway. 

 

He tried not to shift too much, tap his feet or otherwise betray his anticipation while he waited for Finch to finish.  He didn’t want to make Finch suspicious, but Jesus.  How long could it possibly take, to drink one cup of tea?

 

_Finally._

 

The second Finch put down his cup, Reese set his book down and slinked up to his computer station.  “Harold,” he purred in his silkiest whisper.  “We need to talk.”

 

Finch swiveled in his chair to face him.  “About what?”

 

Ha!  Score, Reese thought, trying not to smile.

 

He knew Finch well enough by now to know that just by using his first name, he’d already surprised him.  Finch was probably both startled and wary of what he might say, and mentally reinforcing the miles of imaginary barbed wire and concrete walls he’d put between himself and the world, to make him feel safe.  But he hid all that behind a bland expression, as usual.

 

Reese wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t really mind the fact that Finch was peering at him warily through miles of mental barbed wire and concrete, either. Reese had some impressive mental barricades of his own. Besides, he’d already gained his first objective: Finch’s undivided attention. With just a few words, he’d gotten Finch’s big blue eyes off of his computer screen, and fixed intently on him.

 

Perfect.

 

“Oh, just something I’ve been thinking about for awhile,” he answered airily.  Though truthful, that was a vague answer that didn’t even hint at his Plan, which was actually already in action.  Reese’s next step was to turn up the heat a little.  He figured he’d have to do it carefully though, to start getting physical without spooking Harold.

 

He leaned in slowly and carefully, smiling while he looked at Harold’s mouth to telegraph his intent. 

 

Finch froze like the proverbial deer in someone’s headlights, his eyes widening until they looked huge behind his glasses.  Reese had expected that.  He secretly thought it was cute, though he knew better than to even joke about that with Finch.  Still, so far everything was going completely according to his Plan.

 

He took a few seconds to feel smug about it.  Then he took ruthless advantage of Harold’s surprise, and kissed him. 

 

Mmm, he thought.  Despite its deceptively prim and proper expression, Finch’s mouth was deliciously soft and warm. To Reese’s surprise, it even opened a little when he kissed him.  Just enough to tantalize him, make him wonder if Harold had just sucked in a breath of astonishment at Reese’s brazen behavior, or if Finch meant to invite him in deeper.  The brazen thing seemed more likely, so after a moment Reese drew back reluctantly.  He couldn’t afford to push too hard, too soon.

 

Finch didn’t move, but his eyebrows climbed skyward.  “ _Mr. Reese_!” he gasped.

 

Reese watched him carefully.  Okay, so it was definitely the brazen thing, then.  On the bright side, though, Finch looked shocked, but not revolted.  He also hadn’t tried to hit Reese, or even push him away.  And he’d flushed, so if it wasn’t with embarrassment, then it had to be excitement.  Though he’d caught Finch staring at him often enough in the past to be fairly confident that Harold was probably bi, Reese hadn’t really been positive that he wouldn’t get slugged for kissing him, until just then.  Now he was. 

 

 __ _The home team scores -- again!_ Reese exulted, hearing loud, cheering crowd sounds in his head.  Things were going even better than he’d hoped, so he leaned in again.

 

But then Finch surprised him.  He practically levitated up out of his chair, so fast he nearly knocked it over, and scuttled backwards.  Amused, Reese caught the chair with one hand, righting it absently before it could hit the floor.  He hadn’t thought his injured employer could move that fast.  Sure, Finch had once joked that he’d just “breached the time-space continuum”, but Reese had never thought he’d actually see him try it. 

 

 _Go Harold_ , he thought admiringly.  He loved it when Finch surprised him.

 

Then again -- it wasn’t really very flattering that Finch had only managed warp speed in order to evade one of his kisses.  John sighed to himself.  Things were about to get complicated.

 

Right on cue, Finch sputtered, “That’ll be _quite_ enough of _that, Mr. Reese_!” 

 

Finch sounded scandalized now all right, John thought.  Hell, he sounded like a shocked virgin.  From the 1800’s. 

 

“Why?” he asked calmly.  This was just a little setback, after all.  He still had faith in his Plan. 

 

Finch blinked.  He raised his hands and flailed them a little, his mouth working soundlessly before he hissed, “Are you _serious_?”  His expression and body language practically shrieked, This is _such_ a bad idea!  Let me count the ways.

 

It was all Reese could do not to laugh.  He’d always loved crazy plans, and so far, this one wasn’t going too badly.  He’d already gotten Harold all hot and bothered, without even trying very hard.   _I give it an eight_ , he thought happily.  It would’ve been a seven, but he gave himself an extra point for the element of surprise.

 

He stalked forward.  “Yes.  I promise you, Harold -- I’m totally serious.” 

 

Somehow, Finch didn’t look reassured by that.  He actually twitched nervously.

 

Reese ignored that.  He’d expected it, even factored it into his Plan.  He was prepared to be patient.  He just got as close to Finch as he dared, and arched an eyebrow at him curiously.  “Didn’t that kiss feel serious to you?”

 

Finch’s brows drew together and he stammered, “Well, I – that doesn’t -- I mean, I didn’t _expect_ \--” 

 

Finch looked really cute when he got flustered.  Reese secretly planned to try to make him look like that more often.  But it was time to interrupt, before Finch got too wound up. 

 

“Or maybe it was too gentle?  Is that the problem?”  He smiled, gently but wickedly.  “Well, I didn’t want to come on too strong at first.  But I can do better.”

 

Finch’s blush deepened, and he said, “Of that, I have no doubt.  But --”

 

Reese cocked his head and grinned.  “Why, Harold!  I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

 

Finch pursed his lips and glared a little.  “That’s not the _point_!”

 

Adorable, John thought, finding it increasingly hard not to laugh.  He took another step closer, in case Finch tried to dart away again.  “Isn’t it?” he asked, mock serious.

 

“No!  Now you just… stop right there,” Finch said nervously.

  

Grinning, Reese moved closer instead.

Finch held up a hand to ward him off.  “Mr. Reese! I know the CIA trained you to be intimidating, but I assure you, I am not.  I just think I’d be ill-advised to let you–”

 

Let me what, Reese wondered.  Get any closer?  Kiss you again?  Either way, Reese didn’t like what Finch was saying.  It sounded distinctively negative, and not very complimentary, either.  He shrugged, trying to look casual, but now he was the one who was a little flustered.  Finch was protesting more than he’d hoped he would by this point, and he’d put distance between them, too.  Was Reese’s wonderful, audacious Plan about to fail?  Worried, he decided to pull out one of his ‘big guns’; metaphorically speaking, anyway.  He needed to get the conversation back on the right track:  sex.

 

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but that’s not all they trained me to do,” he interrupted with a smile.  “I’ve never had any complaints in bed, for instance.”

 

“Wha -- _never_?” Finch blurted, before he could stop himself.  He didn’t sound sarcastic, he sounded like he was impressed.  Even intrigued.

 

Now, that was more like it.  Reese was dying to smirk triumphantly.  He froze his expression instead, and reminded himself sternly:  _No gloating until my victory’s complete_.  “No.  Never,” he answered with a slight shrug, as innocently as possible.

 

Maybe he overdid the fake innocence a bit, because Finch’s eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. 

 

Reese held his breath as he watched him think that one over.  He knew how Finch’s mind worked.  First, Finch would doubt him.  Wonder if Reese was lying, or if he just had an overinflated ego.  Then he’d consider the evidence:  the extensive training the CIA had given him, and his own observations of John’s competence at other things, like kneecapping drug dealers or blowing the hood off of that diplomat’s car while Harold watched.  (That’d been sweet.)  Finch would use those as his initial data points.  Then he’d add more by factoring in John’s confidence, his looks and voice, and the effect he’d observed that they had on both men and women…  Finally, Finch would (hopefully) conclude that there was at least a 99.9% probability that Reese was, in fact, telling the truth about his sexual skills.  Which Reese was.  And he’d be more than happy to give Finch a demonstration, too, as soon as he got done being suspicious.

 

Reese guessed all those calculations would take Finch about five seconds, max.  And he hoped they’d help persuade Finch to take a chance on him.  Sure enough, after 4.2 seconds, Harold blushed a little redder as he stared at John.

 

He looked interested now, as well as nervous.

 

Reese’s Plan was back on track.  Pressing his advantage, he glided forward again, smiling confidently.  “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to see for yourself, Harold.”  Holding Finch’s gaze with a smoulderingly intense one of his own, he unbuttoned his jacket, slipped it off with a sinuous move, and tossed it onto Finch’s chair.  (He knew better than to annoy Finch by just dropping it on the floor.)  He might’ve lowered his voice a bit, too, just to make sure Finch couldn’t miss the fact that he was offering to have sex with him.

 

Finch swallowed, not even pretending to misunderstand.  “That might not be—”

 

“What, Finch?  Proper?  Advisable?  _Prudent_?”  Reese teased, smiling as he drew closer, so he wouldn’t alarm Finch.  He was standing very close to Finch now, so close he could almost breathe on his glasses.  He was sorely tempted.  He didn’t know about Harold, but he’d regained his confidence, and he was enjoying the hell out of this. 

 

Finch looked down and shook his head slowly.  “No.  I was going to say…” He paused, choosing his words carefully.  “That might not be something from which I could easily recover, if it went wrong, John.”  He spoke very quietly, and his eyes, when they lifted to meet Reese’s again, were softer and more open, more vulnerable than John had ever seen them. 

 

Fuck!  Reese was stunned.  With one little sentence, a few words and a look, Finch had turned the tables on him.  He’d kneecapped John’s awesome, carefully crafted, perfect Plan!

 

Now I know how you date a dead man, Reese thought ruefully -- _with extreme caution_. 

 

Suddenly this wasn’t a game anymore, if it ever had been.  Finch’s unexpected vulnerability made the moment raw and real and dangerous.  With a few words, Finch had managed to remind Reese of the last time he’d risked something like this, and what it had cost.  And he wasn’t the only one who’d paid a price for loving.  He saw a trace of fear in Harold’s blue eyes that was bound up with Grace’s memory.  He thought of Jessica, and all his smugness and laughter fell away.  Even if things somehow worked out like he’d hoped, Reese suddenly knew he was never going to gloat about it.

 

But Reese saw something else in Harold’s eyes, too.  A warmth he’d never seen before.  And fuck, but that was exciting.  Suddenly, there was an opening in Harold’s miles of barbed wire and high walls, big enough for him to walk through if he dared.  Reese dared, all right.  Because this was the best, the most amazing thing that’d happened to him – well, since he’d ‘died’.

 

What he saw in Harold’s eyes was so important and so unexpected, Reese had never even imagined it when he’d made his Plan.  He’d thought it was impossible for Harold to let down his guard enough to care for him that much.  He hadn’t known that card would even be on the table when he tried to seduce Finch, so he had no idea what to say.  Just when he needed them the most, words failed him and he just stood there, his heart beating really fast, staring at Finch in astonishment. 

 

Finally, the silence between them had stretched out so long, Reese was afraid if he didn’t break it somehow, Finch’s walls would go up again and he’d lose his chance.  He wanted, _needed_ to reach out to Finch.  To let him know that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t the only one willing to risk his heart.  He wished he could tell Harold that this was what he’d really wanted all along, but he’d left honesty like that behind him years ago.  He’d always found actions easier than words, anyway.  Without planning or ulterior motives or anything this time but his sudden need to connect, he reached out through the opening Finch had cut for him in his defenses, and took Harold’s hand in his. 

 

Finch swallowed hard, watching as his much smaller hand was covered by John’s larger one.  But John was careful to be gentle as he stroked his thumb across the back of Harold’s hand, and Finch didn’t pull away.  After a moment, he tilted his fingers, and laced them just as gently through John’s.  Neither of them spoke.  They just stared down for a time, mesmerized by the sight of their joined hands.  Reese’s was large and darkly tanned, laced with small scars and calluses.  Finch’s hand was smaller, pale and finely shaped.  Yin and Yang, John thought, feeling tender and a little awed.

 

For a couple of dead men, he thought, they looked beautiful holding hands.

 

When he could finally speak again, for the first time in ages, he actually found himself trying to be honest.  He said softly, “I feel the same way, Harold.  But it might be the best thing ever.  And how will we ever know, unless we try?”

 

Finch cocked his head, looking a bit embarrassed, a bit turned on, but still a little anxious, too.  Like he wanted to be hopeful, but wasn’t sure how.  “I told you before, John.  I’m a very private person.”

 

It was meant as a warning, and Reese knew Finch was trying to be honest, too.  Still, it wasn’t a no; and anything else, he could work with.  An odd warmth began to grow inside him, tiny and fragile at first, like a leaf unfurling.  It grew until it spread through him in a dizzying rush.  John hadn’t felt anything like it in years.  It was how he’d once felt with Jessica.  Like he had hope, like he could be more than he’d ever dreamed.  Like he could fucking do _anything_.  Move mountains, save the world. 

 

 _Like he wasn’t alone anymore_. 

 

It awed him, that Harold could make him feel like that after just one kiss, one chaste little touch. 

 

 _This is going to be awesome_ , he thought, his heart pounding.

 

He didn’t expect Harold to change, or spill all his secrets.  That wasn’t what this was about.  What mattered was that feeling, and the way Harold had finally called him John, and taken a huge risk for him.  He hadn’t let go of John’s hand, either.  Not for a second. 

 

Finally, Reese knew what to say.  He smiled, a wide, slow, delighted smile.  “That’s okay.  I don’t need to ask you questions, Harold.  In fact, I promise you, I won’t.” 

 

John used his grip on Harold’s hand to gently draw him close, until their chests touched.  Then he paused, waiting to see what Harold would do.  Letting Harold get used to having him that close.

 

Harold didn’t seem to mind.  His blue eyes were still wide, and still locked on John’s, but he wasn’t trying to get away.  He even surprised John by putting his hands gently, tentatively on John’s waist.  “Thank you,” he said, and his lips finally relaxed into a small, sweet smile. 

 

John just nodded, smiling back.

 

But then Harold grew serious again, his blue eyes searching John’s.  “Are you really sure about this?”

 

John’s heart beat even harder.  God, he was so sure.  He was going to take good care of Harold -- in more ways than one.  And damn, but this was going to be _fun_.  His smile turned slightly wicked again, as he bent his head and pressed closer, sliding his arms gently around Harold.

 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.  I won’t pry, Harold.  But feel free,” he whispered hotly in Harold’s ear, “to tell me _exactly_ what you like, and what you want.  In detail…”

 

Harold shivered, but brought a hand up and laid it tentatively on John’s cheek.  John almost purred.

 

“I’ve always…been good at details,” Harold said breathlessly.

 

“I _know_ ,” John grinned, leaning into his touch. 

 

Finis

 

 

 

 

Comments are always welcome. : )


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